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‘And then the editorial teams,’ I guessed. He nodded and my knee crashed into the underside of my desk, knocking over my pencil pot. I righted it with trembling hands.
‘Nothing is confirmed,’ Joe said, resting his hands on his knees and graciously looking away as I calmed myself. ‘And we don’t want to worry anyone at this moment in time, so this conversation will be strictly confidential.’
‘I wasn’t about to call everyone in to announce the good news,’ I replied, full of fire for my magazine, for my team. ‘My people are good, Joe. They’re creative, they work hard. You won’t find better people doing what they do anywhere in this building or anywhere else in the city.’
It took me a moment to realize my voice had risen, I was half out of my chair and the entire team was watching through the glass walls of my office. Pushing my hair behind my ears, I cleared my throat and sat back down. Joe leaned forward and a full, wolfish grin appeared on his face. He had fantastic teeth. The utter bastard.
‘I heard you were passionate about what you do,’ he said. ‘And I heard you have a great staff at Gloss, so there’s no need to go to war just yet. I won’t lie, Angela, I like passion and I like balls. That attitude is going to serve you well in the new Spencer Media.’ Joe’s eyes lit up as he spoke and I was suddenly very, very worried. ‘Gloss doesn’t have the heritage of Belle or the familiarity of The Look but it is a fresh and vibrant brand. With you, I see growth potential. My job here is to prune the dead wood and encourage new buds and I already know I don’t need three mags in print with three full editorial teams and three editors to run three very similar outlets.’
Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Shit.
‘Is Gloss a bud or are we dead wood?’ I asked, my brain completely blank. I’d never been much of a gardener, as the dead succulent on my windowsill would attest.
‘Gloss is a branch on the Spencer Media tree,’ he corrected, ‘that will either flower and bloom or wither and die.’
Such a reassuring man. Clearly Delia had employed him for his gentle way with words.
‘I’m meeting with all the editors in my brand stream this week.’ He flipped at his iPad and raised his eyebrows. ‘And then I’m out of town for Thanksgiving. I’ll schedule a follow-up meeting with you as soon as I’m back so we can discuss my strategy.’
‘Fantastic,’ I said with altogether too much enthusiasm for someone who felt as though they’d just been slapped across the face with a four-day-old kipper.
‘I have to say, I was very curious to meet you.’ Joe reached across the desk and took my hand in an absurdly firm handshake. ‘You didn’t take a traditional route into this job and you seem to be excelling. I know Delia has a tremendous amount of faith in you.’
It should have been a compliment but instead, it felt like a question. A massively unsettling, wanky, unanswerable question.
‘Hopefully I’m not too much of a letdown,’ I replied.
He cocked his head in agreement and I almost vaulted across the desk to knock him out. He was a monster. A horribly attractive and impressively tall monster.
‘Let’s get that follow-up in the diary,’ he said, still squeezing the life out of my right hand. ‘Great to meet you.’
‘You too,’ I managed to half stand and almost smile at the same time and it felt like too much of an achievement. ‘Looking forward to our follow-up.’
Like a hole in the head.
Considering my words with a nod, he released his handshake, leaving white indentations across the back of my hand that turned red as I flexed my fingers. I watched him walk out the door and close it carefully behind him, counting to ten before I picked up the phone.
‘Hey, what’s up?’
Jenny answered on the first ring.
‘Are you busy after work?’ I asked. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Yeah, I can be done by six if I hustle,’ she replied. ‘You want to get dinner?’
‘There can be food,’ I said, my skin prickling from head to toe. ‘As long as there is alcohol.’
Jenny made an unconvinced sound down the line. ‘We got drinks last night.’
‘Yes, we did,’ I replied. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Fair,’ Jenny acknowledged. ‘Meet at the St Regis? I’m sure it’s nothing a martini can’t fix.’
‘Let’s hope that’s true,’ I confirmed, suddenly aware of the seven staffers peering through my glass door. ‘Gotta go, see you in a bit.’
I hung up the phone and waved everyone in.
‘Was that the new boss?’ Megan asked. ‘The new brand director?’
‘They put a man in charge of women’s brands?’ Sophie, the fashion editor, looked confused. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘What did he say?’ Jason gnawed on his thumbnail as he spoke. ‘Are there going to be cuts?’
‘Um,’ I squeaked. ‘Everything’s fine?’
‘Then why were you jumping out of your seat and shouting?’
Trust Megan to expect truthful answers. Why couldn’t she accept my sugar-coated lies like everyone else?
‘He said he could get me tickets to a secret Taylor Swift show,’ I told her, not quite managing to meet her eyes as I spoke. ‘Everything’s fine. There’s no news, which, I’m reliably informed, is good news.’
Jason pouted. ‘My friend Stevens who works in sales says they’re going to close five titles by the end of the year.’
‘Your friend added an “s” to the end of a perfectly good name just to look more interesting on Grindr,’ I replied, concerned that an assistant in the sales team had better insider knowledge than I did. ‘So, let’s not give him more credit than is due. I’ll fill you all in properly at the team meeting in the morning,’ I promised. Another lie, I’d clearly be dodging the facts for as long as humanly possible. ‘But there’s nothing for any of you to worry about. He actually said a lot of nice things about Gloss. So, the best thing we can do is keep everything as it is. We’re doing such a good job, let’s keep that up.’
I watched as they filed out of the office, all relieved giggles and sighs. At least it wasn’t a complete lie; there wasn’t anything for them to worry about at that exact moment. There was at least a good week before they needed to start shitting themselves.
Until then, the only person who needed to worry was me.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u400c84bb-1ef6-5a9c-b1ea-98ba1a152431)
The St Regis was a great choice for an emergency after-work drink. It was a fancy hotel with a classy bar that made you feel like you were either a very important person or a very expensive call girl, depending on which boots you might be wearing at the time. Nothing terrible could happen at the St Regis, it was altogether too swanky for that, they simply wouldn’t allow it. There was something about necking a twenty-five-dollar cocktail that made the rest of the world disappear, leaving just you, your booze, and an extortionate credit card bill to take your mind off whatever troubles you’d trotted in with.
‘It’s six ten,’ Jenny greeted me, pushing a French martini down the bar and tapping her wrist where a watch was not. Jenny never wore a watch. She claimed to have an innate ability to tell the time, but I suspected it had far more to do with the fact that she never went more than fifteen seconds without looking at her phone.
I hopped onto the bar stool next to her, wondering for the first time how appropriate my outfit was for the venue. A corduroy dress with a stripy T-shirt underneath was great for a fashion mag, but not all that wonderful for the King Cole bar of the St Regis. The two older gentlemen in three-piece suits certainly didn’t seem to share my appreciation for Free People’s finest work.
‘I had to finish proofreading an article about the psychology of nail shapes,’ I said, smiling to myself before turning back to my friend. ‘Did you know that almond-shaped nails mean you’re more likely to be faithful?’
‘What do these say about me?’ she asked, flashing ten Chanel Rouge Noir stiletto-shaped nails in my face.
‘That you’re a sweet homebody who is good with animals and children,’ I replied, ferreting around in my handbag for my phone. Alex hadn’t been in touch all day and I didn’t want to miss him if he called.
‘Not that I’m complaining about a two-night back-to-back Angelathon,’ Jenny said, admiring her nails before she wrapped them around the stem of her cocktail glass. ‘But what was so bad about today that called for emergency drinks? Did you get busted photo- copying your ass again?’
‘That was one time,’ I said defensively. ‘I was just curious. And I still had my tights on, so it barely counts.’
She raised an eyebrow and supped.
‘I met my new boss today,’ I explained, gripping the base of my martini glass and twisting it around in shiny circles.
‘And it was amazing and he loves you and he’s already given you a promotion and a raise and every other Friday off?’
‘Exactly that,’ I agreed. ‘Except the opposite.’
She gave me a quizzical look. ‘So, you have to work every other Friday?’
‘Keep your fingers crossed I keep working at all,’ I said, pressing my fingers into my temples. ‘We had a really fun, confidential meeting where he basically told me he’s going to sack about half the staff, just before Christmas. Delia has hired the Grinch and given him complete authority over my magazine. A mean, tall, super-handsome, impeccably dressed Grinch.’
‘He’s hot?’ Jenny asked.
‘Not the point,’ I replied. ‘But yes. And it doesn’t help.’
‘Shit, doll, I’m sorry.’ She reached over the bar and swiped a little glass bowl of snacks. Truly, she knew the way to my heart. ‘That sucks. I just figured you wanted to lecture me about my decision without Erin here to back me up.’
‘Well, since you mention it …’ I slipped my phone into the pocket of my skirt so I wouldn’t be tempted to spend the entire night looking at it. Just like Jenny was at that exact second. Just like Jenny always was. ‘You know I love you and I am Team Jenny all the way, but are you really, really sure this is the best idea you’ve ever had?’
‘Best ever,’ she nodded, taking the olive out of her drink and pulling it off the toothpick with her teeth. ‘Like, even better than that time I invented that keychain with a phone charger attachment.’
‘You didn’t invent a keychain with a phone charger attachment,’ I reminded her. ‘You superglued your keyring to a phone charger and then you loaned it to someone in a bar, forgot about it and had to call a locksmith at 3 a.m. to get your locks changed.’
A flicker of remembrance crossed her face before she went on chewing her olive. I turned green as a wave of nausea washed over me. I hated olives, all briny and green and evil. I liked my martinis the same way I liked my bread and my cheese, so French they should be wearing a beret.
‘Did I?’ she replied, knowing full well that she did. ‘Whatever. I was worried about it but now I’ve made my mind up and I know it’s the right thing to do. Lisa Vanderpump says if you’ve told a guy what you want and he won’t give it to you, it’s time to move on.’
Puffing out my cheeks, I counted to five before I opened my mouth to speak. I wanted to count to ten but there was just no way.
‘If Lisa Vanderpump told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?’ I asked. Jenny paused for a moment while she considered the question.
Her phone sparked into life on the bar before she could answer me and she pounced on the illuminated screen.
‘Expecting a call?’ I asked.
‘No one in particular,’ she said, pushing it away with a sigh as the screen flickered back into darkness. I couldn’t help but notice she still had the photo I had taken of the two of them kissing on New Year’s Eve as her wallpaper. Maybe there was still hope. ‘Like I said, things haven’t been the same lately. He’s hardly ever available and he’s distant when he is there. I’m telling you, Angie, I have to end things before he does.’
And maybe there was literally absolutely no hope at all.
‘Please don’t rush into it,’ I begged, sloshing my untouched drink all over the bar. For twenty-five bucks, you wanted a generous pour but my mum still gave me half a cup of tea at a time when I was at home, so there was little to no hope of my picking up a full martini glass without a fair amount failing to find my mouth.
‘He’s going through a lot of stuff at work, trust me. Things are crazy right now, with the new brand managers, all the rumours flying around. He’s worried he’ll be out of a job soon, that’s not exactly ideal, is it?’
Jenny narrowed her dark brown eyes at me.
‘Since when were the two of you BFFs?’ She slid her neat and tidy glass away from the pool of vodka, pineapple and Chambord that was slowing spreading across the bar. ‘I thought you hardly ever even saw each other?’
‘We don’t,’ I said, mopping up my mess with a napkin under the watchful eye of a waiter. ‘But I know how stressful things have been at Spencer lately. For everyone. And I know I sound like a broken record but he’s such a good person, Jenny, and is it just me or are his arms getting even bigger?’
Try as she might, she couldn’t help but smile at the mention of his giant biceps.
‘They are,’ she confirmed. ‘I measure them every week.’
‘You’re a match made in heaven,’ I replied, grabbing another handful of napkins. ‘Really creepy heaven, but still …’
‘Let me get that for you.’ A not-at-all-impressed waiter came over with a clean cloth to clear up my spillage, just as my phone buzzed against my thigh.
‘Ooh!’ I leapt out of my seat and held it in the air. Jenny raised an eyebrow while the two older gentlemen further along the bar audibly tutted in my direction. ‘It might be Alex,’ I stage-whispered in apology. ‘Give me a second. Don’t dump Mason until I’m back.’
I ran-walked out of the bar and into the hotel lobby, pressing the green button as I went.
‘Hello?’
‘Angela?’
It wasn’t Alex but it was a man, leaving me momentarily stumped. Literally no men ever called me on the phone unless they wanted me to donate to their charity or my dad needed to know how long to microwave a baked potato and my mum was out with the WI.
‘Speaking,’ I replied with great reluctance. Once they had your name, it was so much harder to tell them you didn’t want to give twenty dollars a month to help rescue dogs or the New York Philharmonic or whichever political candidate was complaining the loudest this week.
‘It’s Mason, I’m outside the store, where are you?’
Bugger. I’d completely forgotten about my plan to meet Mason. Here I was listening to Jenny explain why she wanted to dump him and all the while I was supposed to be helping him buy her an engagement ring.
‘I got stuck in the office,’ I fibbed, looking back over my shoulder at Jenny, who was, predictably, flicking through her phone. ‘But I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘I hope it’s soon enough,’ he answered. ‘I’m pretty sure the security guard is about to make a pass at me.’
Hanging up, I walked purposefully back to the bar. Jenny could always tell when I was lying so this was going to be awful.
‘Hey,’ I picked up my bag from the floor without making eye contact, ‘so, I need to run back to the office. I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.’
‘But I just ordered another drink,’ she said, pointing at the stoic bartender. He shook his cocktail shaker in confirmation. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘It can’t,’ I said. She looked annoyed but not as though she was about to go nuclear. ‘But I can come back if you want to wait?’
‘What’s going on?’ she asked sharply. ‘What could be such an emergency that you have to go deal with it right now?’
‘Uh, Kris Jenner has announced she’s running for president,’ I rambled, putting my phone on the bar and dropping my bag on the floor while I fought my way back into my Topshop biker jacket. ‘We’ve got to change the cover story. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Twenty tops.’
Jenny propped her elbow up on the bar then rested her chin in her hand as I struggled with my outerwear.
‘You OK, hun?’ she asked calmly.
I leaned in to kiss her cheek then turned and ran.
‘Twenty minutes, tops,’ I shouted again as I left.
The doorman gave me a curt nod as he held open the main doors and I peeled out onto 55th and took a right on Fifth Avenue, dodging tourists as I ran the whole block up to Tiffany. Panting, I came to a sweaty halt in front of Mason, swiping strands of hair away from my forehead as I caught my breath.
It was the perfect crime.
